


After the Apocolypse

by LadyoftheWoods



Series: Afterwards [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 08:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19422532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheWoods/pseuds/LadyoftheWoods
Summary: The angels discover the switcharoo done by Crowley and Aziraphale





	After the Apocolypse

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS FOR THE END OF GOOD OMENS go watch it if you haven't.

Crowley tapped his foot impatiently, letting the waiter refill his wine. Angels and Demons didn’t in general have a good sense of time, as mortals understand it, but they’d been living on earth long enough that it felt natural to use human clocks and timepieces. Crowley checked his now, forehead creasing. Aziraphale was never late, not to their meetings. He should have been there half an hour ago.  
He pushed his chair back, striding out of the restaurant. On his way out he waved a hand causing a waiter carrying a full tray of food to trip, sending it flying over an expensively dressed couple, who started yelling at the waiter who was profusely apologizing. Even that bit of chaos didn’t sooth him as he snapped his fingers, unlocking and starting the Bentley.  
“Alright love, to the bookshop, as quick as we’re able.” He muttered, revving the engine and speeding away, gas pedal to the floor. He didn’t let up as he dodged through traffic, past cars and pedestrians, jumping curbs when necessary to keep from slowing. Finally, he screeched to a stop outside, jumping out and slamming the door, not even remembering to lock it.  
He tried the handle, frowning at finding it locked. Maybe Aziraphale had just been late. But that wasn’t right either, the lights were still on and the angel was all about conserving electricity, saving the planet. They’d already saved the planet, conserving electricity was a bit of a moot point in Crowley’s book. With a snap the door came unlocked.  
“Aziraphale? You got your head lost in a book again? We were supposed to meet for lunch, my treat, to make up for… well, what was it to make up for?” He trailed off, trying to remember why it was his turn. Usually this was when Aziraphale would chime in, remind him of what he was forgetting, give him that small smile. But there was no answer.  
“Aziraphale?” He called again, walking farther into the shop, towards the back where Aziraphale kept his desk, where he studied and repaired and rebound books. Crowley wasn’t very bookish himself, he couldn’t stand to stay still for too long. He needed to move, to run. Why read when you could go out and do all the things the silly books described yourself? Although he’d been listening to audiobooks recently, at first just to make conversation with Aziraphale, but some of them were really quite good.  
Idle thoughts fled as he reached the desk. It was usually kept tidy and clean, organized into piles or stacks of papers, but the books were in disarray, papers scattered on the floor, as if blown around wildly by wind. The chair was overturned, the floor scuffed, a torn bit of fabric stuck on the chair. From Aziraphale’s coat. The one he’d had in pristine condition for hundreds of years, that he would never, ever let anything happen to.  
“No no no, not yet.” Crowley could feel his heart racing, his panic blotting out his good, well, common, sense. “They were supposed to leave us alone for a century, a decade at least, after the stunt we pulled.” He sniffed the air, scenting them, now that he was alert for it.  
There was Aziraphale’s comforting scent, parchment and wine, coffee and old books. But the others were sharper, like just starched linen or sterile hospital rooms. Gabriel. Michael.  
They knew, they must know. Why else would they risk this, after seeing Aziraphale survive hellfire, they must have figured out they’d traded places, and they’d come for him. For real this time, the angels had Aziraphale. And despite what Aziraphale believed, just because the angels were holy did not make them the good guys. They were just as selfish and self-serving as demons, they just had more self-righteousness, being on the “right” side. As if they had any more idea what the plan was than the demons did, as if God ever actually talked to them anymore. They couldn’t know, positively, that she hadn’t planned for them to stop the apocalypse, but they didn’t care what her plan was, really. And she wouldn’t give a damn if Aziraphale got hurt for it.  
But he did. He cared very much. He could feel his anger and fear burning inside him, giving him power, giving him strength. They were going to murder his friend, his best friend, and he was going to stop them. Whatever it took. He didn’t even glance back as he shot up into the air, punching a hole through the roof, dark wings driving him upwards as he corkscrewed higher and higher into the air, into the clouds, into the atmosphere. He could feel the pressure building, could feel the ice forming on his wings, the lack of air burning his lungs, his glasses cracked in the cold and he pushed on, numb, one wingbeat, two. He had to keep moving, had to keep going. Up.  
He could feel the barrier as he reached the border between sky and space, the fabric of the universe that kept heaven separate, kept demons out. He grit his teeth and pushed onward, feeling the border push back, but it was bending, like a bubble ready to pop. A single wing beat took all his strength, but he couldn’t stop. If he did, it would slingshot him right back to earth. He felt his wings burning, felt his skin burning, he would not stop here. He opened his mouth, letting out a scream of defiance, of rage, of sorrow, of love. And the bubble popped.

“Come now, doesn’t this seem a bit unnecessary? We already did this once and it didn’t work, so why don’t I just- “Gabriel cut off Aziraphale’s nervous chatter with a punch to the gut that made him double over and gasp for air.  
“You never do stop talking, do you? See, we figured out your little switch. Very clever, I have to say. It seems you learned something, from spending so much time with demons.” Gabriel replied, watching Aziraphale’s face pale as he struggled to regain his composure.  
“I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re talking about.” Michael tsked.  
“Please, how moronic do you think we are, that we wouldn’t figure out your little stunt? It was quite obvious, once we thought about it, consulted our coleagues downstairs. Now you’ll get to taste the flames for real. I wonder what your demon friend would say to that?” She taunted, Aziraphale straightening, the thought of what Crowley would do making him brave.  
He didn’t regret meeting Crowley that first time, or any of the meetings that came after. He loved having Crowley as a friend, loved their lunches and dinners, their covert meetings in the park where all the spies gathered. They’d saved the universe together. After all this, he understood how Crowley could have fallen, how being a demon didn’t make him evil, not really, just not angelic. And pure Anglicism was looking less and less ideal, in Aziraphale’s opinion. It had for a long time now.  
“I’m going to regret asking this, but it is procedure. Any last words, Aziraphale? And try and make it quick.” Gabriel said. Aziraphale stood tall, proud, as he stared down the two angels.  
“Yes, naturally. You two are by far the worst angels I’ve ever met, and I’m positive She is very disappointed in you. Crowley is perhaps the best thing to happen to me in all of eternity, and while I forgive those who trespass against me, you can be sure that he will not.” Aziraphale’s eyes blazed with all the fire of the sword he’d “lost” so long ago. There was a moment of quiet, then Gabriel clapped his hands together.  
“Very poignant. So, let’s get this done, shall we?” He nodded at Michael, and a column of blazing fire leapt from the ground, surrounding Aziraphale. For a moment, he felt it’s scorching heat, felt himself being torn apart, disintegrating into nothing, every atom being ripped apart, every cell screaming in pain, regretting only that he hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Crowley. That he was leaving him all alone.  
Then there was a sound like a sonic boom, like a deep, tolling bell, like a million carrion crows screaming in grief, like the big bang all over again, like darkness and light shattering and suddenly there was soft darkness surrounding Aziraphale, wrapping him tightly until the heat couldn’t touch him, insulating him against the nothingness lurking just beyond this haven of feathers. Feathers? Wings.  
“Crowley.” He realized, with a jolt, but he couldn’t move, the wings held him tight, cocooned against any stray spark, and he could tell Crowley was furious. That fury was maybe the only thing holding him together right now.  
“That’s impossible. You can’t get up here, not unless we let you in” Gabriel stammered, taking a step back. Crowley snarled, throwing his glasses and letting them shatter, letting them see the flames reflected in his eyes.  
“You don’t have a fraction of an idea what I can or cannot do. You test my patience, Angel, which is not a virtue I have in large supply. I don’t have many virtues, to be honest. Certainly, none of them prevent me from ripping you limb from limb, tearing out your entrails, and then plucking out your still beating heart and feeding it to Satan himself. I may not be popular down there nowadays, but I figure the heart of Gabriel will get them to look the other way. Care to try me?” He snarled, his voice was more guttural growl than human, and he looked like a nightmare come to life.  
His slit pupiled eyes burned, his lips pulled back in a snarl, sharp canines showing, ready to rip flesh, ready to tear skin, ready to rain hell down on heaven. Looking all the part of a feral beast, of a fallen angel, of a true, hell born demon.  
“Now. Don’t you have someone to run along and report this to, some paperwork to fill out? Or would you prefer to stay and play? I rather like that second option.” He licked his lips, and the angels fled, vanishing in a blink, the fire dissipating.  
“And if you ever come after us again, I swear on all that is holy and hellish, I will tear this place apart until you wish you were dead!” He shouted into the empty air, knowing his threat would reach their ears.  
“Um, Crowley, it is rather hard to breathe in here.” Aziraphale’s muffled voice snapped Crowley back to himself. Shakily, carefully, he unfurled his wings, taking in every detail of Aziraphale.  
“They hurt you.” Crowley stated, Aziraphale had a black eye, and no doubt bruises beyond that.  
“Oh, yes, well, it’s nothing really. I did try and put up a fight, but you know me, I’m rather out of practice.”  
“You were never that competent of a fighter, and certainly not when paired against Gabriel. Still can’t believe they issued you that sword.” Crowley replied, making Aziraphale smile as he crouched in front of the angel, gently touching his face. Aziraphale winced, but in a moment, it was healed, the swelling gone.  
“I’m fine, really. Just a bit shaken up, I suppose.” Aziraphale shuddered, remembering the fleeting feeling of oblivion.  
With Aziraphale safe, Crowley’s rage and fear dissipated, the adrenaline wore off, his only defenses against falling apart vanished. He pitched forwards, hissing in pain, hands clutching at his head, which felt like it was ablaze, like it was going to explode. Every part of him was screaming in protest, consecrated ground was one thing, that felt hot, sure, like pins and needles. This was fire in his veins, in his head. This was ripping tearing fierce agony.  
“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s voice got through to him, though he could barely hear it over the roar in his head, the pressure building in his blood.  
“Demon…. Heaven…. Not…. Great.” Crowley managed through gritted teeth, closing his eyes against the searing white that burned in his retinas, burned behind his eyelids. Threatened to burn him away completely.  
There was a whirl of wind and suddenly the all-consuming burn was gone and there was just an endless ache as he crashed to the floor, groaning as he pushed himself up to his knees, the world slowly coming into focus around him.  
“Crowley, that was perhaps the stupidest thing you have ever done in all of eternity and I swear I will never put up with you ever again if you dare risk your life like that again.” Aziraphale was before him, and Crowley didn’t even care that he was admonishing him. He was just endlessly glad that Aziraphale was still scolding him, still there to scold him.  
“Would you just shut up for once and stop being such an idiot?” Crowley said, smiling as Aziraphale stammered for a response, then threw himself forwards, kissing Crowley fiercely, wrapping him in his arms like he’d never let go.  
“I’m sorry I scared you, but I’m not sorry I risked my life for you. You’re worth a thousand of me and more.” Crowley murmured, pulling back, soft smile on his face. He leaned against Aziraphale, head resting against his chest, hearing his heart beat, relief washing through him in time to his pulse. “They were going to annihilate you, Ziri. I thought I lost you once. I can’t lose you again, I can’t, I won’t…” He trailed off, closing his eyes and leaning into Aziraphale’s touch. He was exhausted, every rule in existence stated that demons couldn’t enter heaven, at least not without being allowed in. He’d bent and broken every rule for Aziraphale, and he’d do it a thousand more times to keep him safe. He’d do anything to keep him safe.  
“Crowley… your wings….” Aziraphale looked over Crowley’s shoulders, at his dark feathered wings. He was missing feathers, torn off at the nibs. The edges were frayed and singed, many were ripped, missing half the fringes. His wings were bruised and bloody and torn to shreds.  
“Ohh, they’ll be fine. Most of us don’t still have our wings anyway. I was lucky, they hadn’t come up with ripping off the wings before banishing us to earth. Now they just burn anyone they think isn’t loyal enough, like humans searching for witches. Fat lot of good that did the humans, of course.” He slurred, realizing Aziraphale was the only thing holding him up. He winced as Aziraphale touched his wing, before withdrawing his hand with a frown.  
“I can’t heal it. But that can’t be right, I can heal almost anything.”  
“S’ different, Ziri. It’s from punching through the world to heaven, it’s not something that’s exactly been done before. Heaven exposure burns. I’d guess there’s only two beings who can instantly heal that kinda damage, and neither one is inclined to helping these days.” Crowley replied, feeling himself start to shake, though he didn’t know why.  
“Well, I guess we’re doing this traditionally then. Can you walk, Crowley? Not far, just to the couch in the back. I don’t think teleporting in your condition would be advisable.” Aziraphale said, sounding more confident than he felt. With a supporting arm around Crowley’s shoulder, they made it to the couch, though he could see Crowley biting his cheek with every step, with every jostle of his wings. Still, once he was settled in on the couch, he fell asleep almost instantly. All the better, if Crowley was in his right mind, Aziraphale didn’t know if he’d allow him to help. He was so strange that way, Crowley was constantly swooping in to save him, showing up to get him out of trouble, but he would never let Aziraphale help him that way. He supposed Crowley was afraid the demons were less forgiving than the angels, and didn’t want him mixed up with them. Aziraphale wasn’t so sure that was the case anymore.  
“I’m going to go get some hot water and towels, and bandages. Stay right there, and don’t do anything.” Aziraphale told Crowley, more just to calm himself down than for the sleeping Crowley’s benefit. He knew he’d be right there when he returned, but some small part of him was afraid that if he turned his back for a second, Crowley would somehow vanish. Today was too close a call, for both of them. He shook those thoughts away, tucking a blanket around Crowley before going to fetch bandages.  
He cleaned Crowley’s wings carefully, wringing out the towels in warm water, pulling out the broken nibs, flinching at every small noise of pain Crowley made in his sleep, how his face scrunched up, how his breathing hitched. He hated hurting Crowley to make him heal better. Finally he wrapped them, praying that they would heal quickly and correctly, that God answered prayers for the sake of demons.  
Crowley drifted through fitful sleep, flashes of memories and fears dancing through his mind, until he woke with a startled gasp, trying to jump to his feet, but succeeding only in falling off the couch as a wave of pain hit him, zinging up his spine.  
“Aziraphale!” He called out, voice raw and hoarse. He wasn’t there, what if something had happened, what if they knew how weak he’d be, that he couldn’t protect him-  
“Oh for Heaven’s sake Crowley, calm down, please. I was just making some tea. There are some very promising herbal remedies that help with healing I thought we’d try.” Aziraphale stopped at the stricken look on Crowley’s face. “What?”  
“Don’t ever do that to me again. Don’t ever leave.” Aziraphale sighed.  
“Crowley, we can’t possibly always be in the same location together. And I’m just as worried about keeping you safe as you are about me, you just know how to get yourself out of trouble while all I do is get into it.” Crowley stretched his wings, wincing as another pang of pain shot up his spine as he stood.  
“You’re just too nice, is all. You trust everyone means what they say and say what they mean and that the world is an honest, just place. But it’s not, Aziraphale. Heaven isn’t, you’ve seen that for yourself, and Hell is, well, Hell. People use that kind of trust against you. They always do.” Crowley plopped back down onto the couch, realizing his wings were wrapped carefully in bandages, so that they weren’t restricted in movement, but also were completely covered.  
“You don’t.” Aziraphale replied, sitting down next to him, reaching out and holding one of Crowley’s hands.  
“Well, that’s different, isn’t it? We’re on our own team now, have been for centuries, really.” Aziraphale shook his head.  
“You never manipulated me, not really, not how I know you can. Even from the start you didn’t. All your schemes gave Hell power, made humans mad, but you never hurt anyone, not really. I know you don’t feel like it, but you are worthy of asking for help, of being loved. Of my love.” Aziraphale leaned in and kissed Crowley, gently, resting his forehead against the demon’s.  
“I love you, Ziri.” Crowley whispered, hating the tears that burned at the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall. “And that terrifies me. Because it’s something they can use against me, against us.”  
“I know. But I think you proved today that if something does happen to me, you won’t stop until every one of them is destroyed. I know that’s not what I’d want you to do, but I know its what you would do. And I’d still love you and forgive you for it. Now,” Aziraphale continued, after a long moment of silence, “you should get some more rest.”  
“Stay? Please?” Crowley asked quickly, looking away. It was funny, thought Aziraphale, when it came to anything else, Crowley was always the first to act, the first to respond, to try and create a solution. But when it came to them, he always waited for Aziraphale to make the first move. It was rather endearingly sweet, and Aziraphale felt a surge of love for Crowley, who never did anything worthy of falling, not really, but was kicked out anyway, for his curiosity.  
“Always.” Aziraphale replied simply, leaning back against the couch, Crowley curled up beside him, resting his head on his shoulder, wings brushing as they fell asleep.


End file.
